Four Twenty Two

On this 420 day I would like to remind you all that weed is not a victimless substance. 

I have heard a 19 yo confess that for a period of time they spent $240 per month on weed, out of their $800 minimum-wage part time job.

I have seen people who won't take any job that requires a drug test even a random one, and unable/unwilling to stay off of it for 30 days just to pass the test.

I have seen the irritability, the mood swing, the unchecked emotion and anger because of the withdrawal. I have seen people got really furious when they were not allowed to have it.

I have seen people jump right back after restrictions on them was lifted. I have seen people who think I am being extra because I do not like it and do not wish to partake. 

"But that's not me. I am careful. I am responsible. I am not taking it when I shouldn't take it, and I am not making it a habit. And most importantly, I can afford it."

Well you can. Others, not so much. Especially if they are a young adult barely in their 20s with their first minimum wage job. Or just landed a student loan and struggling to keep yourself in check. 

It is scary how many (young) people think it's funny to go to work stoned. Unfortunately some of the better-paying job traditionally requires you to not be under influence when you are working, and will enforce drug test.

But what happened when partaking the grass becomes a part of you? A part of your identity and who you think you are? What if you can't get a better paying job because you are unwilling or unable to stop using it? 

What happen if the XX amount of 'fun money' becomes a must expenditure like your car insurance and rent? What if the 'relaxation method' becomes something that you need to have in order to function?

For a non-US citizen, even those with green card, weed is still a federal offense and you can easily lose your right to stay because of it. If you are not a citizen, this is not something you should take lightly.

Right now weed and its derivatives are hailed as the cool thing. The good grass. The must-have. If you are one of those people who can keep it under control, you are privileged.

Remember that there are others are not as privileged as yours. Just like coffee, substances affect people differently. Not everyone can have the salary or self-control to sustain such habit. 

I know I am being very uncool, but just as we prefer our products to be slave-free and responsibly-sourced it is important to think where or what happened to other people who partake it. 

It's important to think do we want to be a part of a culture that can very much harm other people, not unlike us questioning if we want to continue to support Amazon or Walmart.

Because it is harmful. It is not victimless. It can destroy life and future. Especially if you are a young adult, in which you can be attached to it all of your life without knowing how to break free.

So think carefully before you partake or encouraging someone to partake. It's all fun and game until someone got stuck in life because they are chained to it. All things comes with a cost.

9.30 AM

9.30 am and I am drunk. No, not the cute giggling mimosa drunk that somehow still look pretty. It's the "Speeding in inhumanely speed through my board game and grope you in between" drunk. 

(I wonder if my Twilight Imperium board game group will allow me to play in such manner. Pro: I might win. Con: their gfs might not be thrilled. I mean, I am an equal opportunity groper I mean lover. They are welcome to join.)

It's one of those days where I want to drag my ex-bf by the collar and tell him, "Listen a-hole. You would have to spend this lifetime's worth of good karma and more just to find someone remotely like me. With all the loving and loyalty I could give, with all the passion and excitement that I offered."

" You would be extremely lucky to find someone who love you enough to trade a life of glitz and glamour in downtown LA, strolling around at the operas and dance venues, and choose to be utterly invisible as your Stepford wife."

But none of this matter. None. To a person, you only worth as much as they are willing to see your worth. You can't change any of that. You could be the most amazing person ever and someone will still think you are sh-t.

I can't force him to see my worth. No matter how much mimosa I drank, nothing will change. I know I need to let it go, and I will. It gets easier by the day. I understand that it wasn't meant to be. I have accepted that I need to reset my life and start anew.

But sometimes I just need to get drunk at 9.30 in the morning. Because losing his love wasn't easy, even when I knew the condition was not healthy for me. Because I miss him so damn much. Because even in the death of our relationship I am still not willing to let him go.

I promise you I will be fine. It's like dancing. One step backwards so you can take two step forward. I will be fine. 

Accepting grief is self-healing. Soon all these negative talks will recede, displaced by fun flirty pictures and my usual weird yet (thought) provoking posts. It's ok to be sad. It's being generous to myself. It's not weak. I want to believe this. I have to believe this.

It's ok to be confined in this quicksand for a bit. It's giving myself a time to heal and to get better. It prepares me to say goodbye in a healthy way. It's ok to not be ok.

I love you babe. I really do. You are my moon and stars. I would have raised dragons for you, even if it means burning myself to cinders. But it's time to say goodbye. It's time for me to be me. I love you, precious. I really do.

Rage And Grace

The last package has arrived. With this, there's nothing else tied me and my ex-bf together.

It feels... empty. 

Getting this package was painful. He was uncommunicative and told me he was just extremely busy. I got bitter and angry because I felt he was punishing me with his silence, that I wasn't worth a few seconds of his time to text back.

My friends said that's just how some people cope. Yet I was blinded by rage. Why do I have to feel I am worthless because that's how he cope? Do I not deserve to feel sad and angry? Why am I being discarded and forgotten?

On and on the anger went. But for what?

Why does it matter that he refused to talk to me? Or that I feel I mean nothing for him? Why does it bother me so much to feel that he wants to erase me off of his memory? Or that we simply cannot be friends or even be cordial to each other?

I love him, that's why. Pride and greed rear their ugly heads and pounced. I love him and I want him still. More than anything in this world. And I could not take the feeling of not being wanted anymore. I want him and I want him to want me.

But life is more than just about "wants". We are compatible in many ways, but we will never agree on our key differences. It can be done, but it will require great sacrifices and a mountain of effort. At the time of this writing, it was not going to happen.

So why even bother getting angry?

This writing is not about him. It's about me. It's about my failure to act with grace. I am ashamed of it. It's about me burning to cinder from unchecked rage. I deeply regret it.

The inside of my mouth tastes bitter. Anger was never pleasant. I wish I wasn't so angry. I wish I could calm my pride and hug my greed tight. I wish I could tell my pride that what he thinks shouldn't matter anymore, and gently reminding my greed that we don't have to have everything that we want.

He said I was looking for a fight. Maybe I was. I took the bait and ran with it. It may makes it easier for him to hate me now. After all, have he not just proven to the world I am a selfish insensitive person who cares not about his current predicament? Have he not just unveiled that I am a "me me me" person? Good for him to dodge the bullet.

But I don't want to hate him.

I don't want to live with the recollection of anger in my head. I don't want to live with his spiteful version etched in my heart. I want to remember his smile, his embraces, his love. I want to remember us dancing in Disneyland and napping on the sofa.

I want to remember how his face light up when I told him he is an amazing person. I want to remember rolling on the bed to spoon him and felt all is well in this world. I want to remember kissing him gently, passionately, lovingly. I want to remember the man I love.

I want him to think of me kindly, but what he thinks of me has nothing to do with me. It's no longer about 'us'. It's about 'me' now. I have to live with myself. I have to heal.

And a part of healing is forgiving myself.

I can't take back my anger, and I grieve for it. I can't make it not happening. I can't undo the words I unleashed on him. Even when a small part of my head told me it's good for him that someone dares to defy him, I still can't accept my action. 

I will forever carry this moment with me, a shameful reminder of my unchecked rage. I will remember the time when I hurt the person I love. Whether he deserves it or not is not the question. I still did it. I was hurt and I striked back. This is not who I want to be.

But it happens. It was not okay but it happened. Nothing good will come up by only wailing that it happened. It is a painful and expensive way to be taught to be graceful, to keep my head high instead of drowning in fury. It is a lesson I need to understand and take to heart.

.

.

.

I wish him the best, for he is precious.

I wish me the best, for I am precious.

I wish peace for both of us, for we deserve it.

I love him dearly, and I should love myself as dear.

No more rage. No more.

Life Assembling

If you told me 2 months ago I will be assembling my own exercise machine I will laugh at you. Yeah right. And pigs could fly.

Yet here I am, assembling my own exercise machine. And my own IKEA table with drawers and such. And the chairs too. I have my own little box of tools, and thinking to get some drills too. Wow. Much progress. Plenty impressive.

This is all thanks to my friend. I wrote about helping her build the gazebo a few weeks ago. Her generosity on hosting me during my break-up not only allow me to heal myself and prevent me from making bad decision, but also made me see what I can (or cannot) do. 

We talked about aspiring women. We talked about head of nations, CEOs, and other important position. We talked about queens and princesses, of celebrities and famous people. We are in love with Daenerys and Wanda Maximoff, badass woman characters that can kick butt.

But man, my friend is my new hero right now. And I wish people can see that. 

There was nothing astounding about your local neighborhood mom. The fact that she is capable on doing things around the house for most people can even come as disturbing. Men feel threatened and inadequate. Women feel it was against nature.

But have you seen my IKEA desk? It was a gloriously heavy wood table that will adequately sit even my largest board game when expanded. Without lessons I gathered from her, I would have to settle with a cheap plastic fold up table and be somewhat miserable.

I went on IKEA trips on my own to get different things, all tucked into my wheeled duffel bag and transported by bus. Why? Because she showed me that can be done. It's not scary to get (big) furniture and do it yourself. Her amazing clothes wardrobe is a true statement of that.

I have been helped a lot during and after my breakup. A LOT. At times I don't understand why they are even helping me or care about me. Surely there is something wrong with their brain? Maybe they mistook me for someone else? I am incredibly grateful for such love, though. 

Yet the realization that I can do things and I can have nice things is definitely one of the blessing in the otherwise painful event. That things are... attainable. You just need some elbow grease and decent head over your shoulder. That I don't have to be scared and choose cheap ready made things just because I don't think I can assemble the nicer ones.

That I don't really need a knight in shining armour. Which I still want one, just because. But I don't need someone to better my life. I can better my own life, thank you. And if I needed to, I can ask my dear friends, her especially, to help me out. I am not alone. I never was.

This is why women like us are scary. We want happiness, but we inadvertently set the bar so high. It's pretty much "I till the whole land and milk all the goats and mill all the flours. Please don't come unless you have at least 6 milk cows and a solid trade log for fresh milk, cheese, and butter." 

Keeping us are also harder. The moment you fell out of grace, you are out. The BS tolerance gets significantly lower when you know that you, well, don't have to tolerate anything. If it doesn't bring you joy, out in the trash it went.

Now why would anyone wish such lonely existence? Why make yourself so unmarketable? The answer is because it is so much easier to cry about the loss of my love on my new plush mattress on the frame that I set up myself. It is so much easier to feel the world is ending while I sat mindlessly with a cup of tea on my new shiny table and comfy chair.

Partners, spouses, significant others etc come and go, but life skills stay. You stay. You can't really kick out that person in your head. And this is why the badassery that is my friend should be celebrated. That all parents in the PTA should whispered "There. That's her. Dammit if I can't make my kid as adequate as her." 

It's great to have public women role model because it gives us hope and encouragement. Yet it is also important to see around you for gems like this. Looking for people who made you feel you can be strong too. You can be independent too. Because let's face it: being independent ROCKS.

Flight of The Butterfly

I forgot that you hate me

I misread your text and got happy

Maybe this breakup will end well

Maybe we don't have to be stranger

Maybe you are not as bad

But I was wrong

I am still your horrible wench

Your destroyer of happiness

I still don't deserve basic decency

I am still the unmentionable 

And I cry in my angst

Not wanting to see you in bad light

Not wanting to purge our good memories

Not wanting to be disgusted by you

Not wanting to be treated this why

So I wrote long letters

Telling you you owe me so much

That what you have right now is what we build together

Shouting what a horrible immature person you are

That I deserve to be treated better

Yet I deleted them. All of them.

Why should I care anymore?

Of how you feel? Of how you see me?

What will it do for me anyway?

I don't need you to validate me

It really doesn't matter

You are the one who choose to live

With anger and angst and loath

You are the one who choose to see

Me as enemy and not as friend

And I am just here sipping my tea

Future is bright and beautiful

Like the sunny day outside my window

Like the loving messages inside my phone

Like laugh and the smile etched on my face

The butterflies will fly again

They will die in their short life span

And new ones will emerge from the eggs

The flowers will still bloom for them

And the world will still be pretty

Let the butterflies fly.